Western Pacific, July 22, 1945
"GENERAL QUARTERS, GENERAL QUARTERS... ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS.... GENERAL QUARTERS GENERAL QUARTERS."
Jaroschek carefully popped up from his rack. He had fallen asleep in utter exhaustion in the few seconds after he had closed his eyes just before midnight. The berthing compartment had been quiet with the few exceptions of the snorers in the back row of racks and the ever present throbbing hum of the engines that propelled USS North Carolina forward at twenty two knots. Now it was chaos. For him, it was a simpler job, he had fallen asleep in his uniform and merely had to put boots back on, and then scramble forward half a dozen compartments and up two decks to get to the Bofors mount. It took him just under three minutes to arrive after the first gong. He was not the first, and he was not the last. Everyone was hurrying to secure their helmets, their anti-flash and their life jackets. By the time that he was battle dressed, the last straggler had arrived. A moment later, the ready ammunition clips were being loaded into the gun and the directors were spinning up.
The battleship stayed ready for the next hour as night fighters from Enterprise and Constellation hunted snoopers. Off in the distance, tracers crossed the sky as a picket destroyer defended itself. The ship was secured from General Quarters an hour before dawn. There would be enough time for everyone to hit the head and perhaps the coffee urn before the regular early morning call to battle stations came over the speakers.